


bakumatsu

by stirringwinds



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Swearing, and Kiku being strategic, drinking with the enemy 101, gunboat diplomacy and politics, tagged just in case however, the Ameripan is very slight and mostly Alfred being in full-on schmoozing mode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stirringwinds/pseuds/stirringwinds
Summary: “Your alcohol is repulsive,” Kiku mutters. It’s bitter and musty on his tongue, lacking the aromatic notes of good sake. A present from the Americans, to eternal amity and friendship!Farcical.“A horse’s piss is what this tastes like. Your selection of brewers is dismal.”“You’re a lot ruder when you’re hammered. But a hell lot more honest,” America's smile, as always, is too-bright, like the scorching heat of the midday sun beating down on a summer day, the zealous, hungry light of youth bright in his eyes.Yokohama, 1854:The end of Japanese isolationism is near. Kiku attempts to size Alfred up—over American beer—because of course, that’s what you do with diplomatic gifts from a potential enemy.
Relationships: America & Japan (Hetalia), America/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	bakumatsu

**Author's Note:**

> The end of an era—and the beginning of a relationship that will shape the century ahead. Historical notes at the end.

* * *

**Yokohama, 1854**

* * *

“Your alcohol is repulsive,” Kiku mutters, because that is what he and America are drinking. It’s bitter and musty on his tongue, lacking the aromatic notes of good sake. A present from the Americans, to eternal amity and friendship! _Farcical_. “A horse’s piss is what this tastes like. Your selection of brewers is dismal.”

“You’re a lot ruder when you’re hammered. But a hell lot more honest,” America observes. His smile is too-bright, the way the midday sun beats down mercilessly on a hot summer day. In the deepening shadows of the night, it’s not exactly easy to discern any flush in the bronze planes of America’s face, but he _has_ begun stumbling over his Dutch. “And hey…it’s an— _fuck_ —what’s the word for it?—oh I got it. An _acquired_ taste, you know what I’m saying?”

Bitter horse piss indeed, but it does the job as social lubricant somewhat. America’s face is marginally less irritating than it had been before they began helping themselves liberally to one of the beer casks intended for the shogun.

“It’s _objectively_ revolting.” But he takes another sip, grimaces at the taste. He’s not about to cede any ground to America, who would probably loudly and childishly proclaim that he was unable to stomach his beer. 

So much for hoping that America would be enough of a lightweight that some alcohol would be all the encouragement needed for him to start divulging useful diplomatic secrets, however.

Whenever he attempted to steer the conversation in _that_ direction earlier in the evening, America always pivoted back to making idle commentary on cultural differences he found particularly fascinating or ridiculous. He had successfully derailed Kiku into a tiresome discussion centred on his disbelief at the nudity on display at a perfectly normal mixed bathhouse. As though he were a gawking little prude for whom even the flash of a bosom or ankle in the practical context of bathing was too much. America had in turn, off-handedly mentioned that it was somewhat acceptable for couples to kiss in public—why were Kiku's people so reticent about _that_? It was less revealing than the bathhouse, wasn't it?

These logical leaps made no sense to Kiku, but he did his best to rebut—decency was a matter of _context and intention,_ what was the shame in stripping off one's clothes to take a bath in a shared bathing space used by the community? What was one to do otherwise, unless one was wealthy enough to have their own bath? Public displays of affection by contrast, _could_ be conducted in private and again, had an entirely different intent compared to taking the bath.

Although his original goal of getting America to spill confidential information had been foiled, these diversions did at least give him some insight into America's personality and customs. It was a somewhat entertaining dive into cross-cultural comparisons for Kiku, even if America's annoying insistence about the firmness and universality of his moral standards proved to be grating. 

It was a curious thing indeed— the way America oscillated between bold impropriety and what seemed like a rather bizarre, squeamish naïveté.

As though he hadn’t announced himself in Edo Bay with a thunder and fury that rivalled that of the gods, hadn’t _laughed_ in the face of his men, whom had sought in vain to get him to leave. 

“You’ve had whatever European wine Johan’s brought over right? Since you’ve long made an exception for him and all. Well, you ought to broaden your palate beyond that,” America shrugs. He tips his head back for another swig from his cup, hair mussed up and collar buttons undone. Apart from his gold hair, America fit right in with the wealthy samurai and their assorted hangers-on staggering through the pleasure districts of Edo.

The evening air is cool on his face, but the unkemptness of the younger nation, the way he lounged about as though he were right at home—makes Kiku feel distracted, petty. Here he was, reduced to imbibing terrible drink, his own clothes and hair likely dishevelled—all because of an upstart boy who had not even reached his fifth-hundredth year. 

_Made a fool of by a sapling of a nation who hasn’t even grasped the art of making fine-tasting alcohol_ , Kiku reflects, with morose humour. “Please, you are the one who needs to learn how to make your drink with more flavour, sweetness and aroma.”

“If it’s horse piss, you sure seem to like it, judging by how long you’ve been shooting the breeze with me.” Tipsiness only seems to magnify America’s ability to radiate smugness. He’s leaning against the wooden frame of the shoji-paper door, sitting cross-legged on the veranda; sitting in the proper _seiza_ style, America insisted, was beyond the flexibility of his joints. His mouth slants into a smirk, eyes as dark as the sweep of pigment on a woodblock print of the sea. “Or do you enjoy my company after all?”

Yes, America isn’t like Johan. Johan isn’t as free with his smiles, and cared less about coming off as cool or downright unfriendly—but he is comfortably straightforward. For sometimes, even Kiku himself tired of parsing the layers of meaning underpinning the elaborate, feigned politeness of his own men in the shogun’s retinue.

America has no such reserve, no such coolness. America is gregarious and _warm_ , the zealous, hungry light of youth bright in his eyes, _warm_ like the stifling, rolling heat of a steel-smelting furnace. America is generous with his smiles, always friendly, always masking his intentions under that façade, always relentlessly _prying_ into the vulnerabilities of others with his too-bright smiles.

“I certainly don’t like you.” Getting inebriated had clearly been a poor choice if he intended to choose his words carefully around America. There was after all, only a treaty hanging in the balance, secured by the warships that sat in the harbour; ten dark, steel hulks poised at his throat like a blade. Kiku allows himself a sardonic smile. He will blame this foolish candour on the beer tomorrow morning. “Not at all, _America_ —”

“— _Alfred_.” America breaks in, settles his cup on the floor. He pulls a face, looking every bit like the young boy he must have been not too long ago, hair gold in the lamplight. It makes Kiku think of the one-year-old crown prince in Kyoto, pouting when deprived of a favourite toy. “Call me Alfred. Not America. _America_ is all weird and formal and stuffy.”

He hesitates. Not because the syllables don’t come easily— after years of practice, he did not struggle with differentiating the distinct _Ls_ and _Rs_ so common in various European languages, unlike the fresh-faced young men learning Dutch for the first time in their bid to become interpreters.

There is always something intimate about a human name. _Dangerous_ too, in the case of America’s. It’s more comfortable to think of America as _America_ , the young princeling and _threat_ who is growing tall and strong out of England’s paternal, imperial shadow. Who had shown up at his door with the smell of gunpowder and steel.

_Alfred_ is too personal, too human for his liking. _Alfred_ speaks of the vast distance of the oceans separating them dissolving in the face of industrial power and a changing world. _Alfred_ speaks of the future interactions to come, of more and more complicated entanglements, of permanence. Part of him refuses to acknowledge this, wishes to cling to the safety of the past.

But intuitively, Kiku also _knows_ what will be. Because he has already chosen. He refuses to make the same choices, the same _mistakes_ as Yao. His mentor had rested on the laurels of prestige and notions of civilisational superiority, allowed himself to grow weak and soft, while England feigned obeisance, planned and schemed until the time was right. 

A tree standing for thousands years, only to be felled by a flash of lightning amidst a passing storm.

Far better bruised pride and a negotiated treaty, rather than destruction and an even more punishing, _humiliating_ bargain extracted. 

And while America is strong, brimming with arrogant idealism and zealotry, he is _young_. Loud, bold and seething with power, yes—but young and inexperienced, compared to the others who had also begun eyeing the Pacific.

He might be out of practice these past two centuries, Kiku thinks, but he could and would adapt. He had learned to deal with Johan, with Yao and Yong-soo and the innumerable others who had come before. Yao had, more than once, with his typical mix of approval and condescension, said that he was a good imitator. Good at learning, borrowing ideas and concepts from others. 

“I don’t like you, Alfred.” Kiku meets the younger nation's gaze, smiles. He makes sure to lay it on thicker than he normally would; the alcohol certainly helped in this regard. Conventional Japanese subtlety might after all, be lost on someone like America. “But maybe just not yet.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] "Bakumatsu" (幕末) is the historical term used to refer to the waning years of the Tokugawa shogunate, brought about by American gunboat diplomacy, which forced the country to abandon isolationism and set it on a path towards industrialisation and modernisation. It means ‘end of the bakufu’, which in turn refers to the military government of the shogun.
> 
> [2] American beer first came to Japan when Commodore Perry’s men gifted a few kegs to the shogun in 1854—the year the Treaty of Kanagawa that opened trade between Japan and the US was signed— in the customary diplomatic exchange of gifts. It wasn’t well received at first. ‘Bitter horse piss’ is literally how a Japanese official described it. Of course, in time beer caught on and became a multi-million yen industry.
> 
> [3] Commodore Perry first arrived in 1853, but returned in 1854 with 10 warships. By then, Japanese officials had largely agreed that the best option was to agree to a treaty, but hammering out the actual details with the Americans dragged out over a number of weeks. There were a number of parties thrown and attended by both Americans and Japanese officials during the treaty negotiation process and yes, needless to say the alcohol flowed and things got rowdy.
> 
> [4] The Americans then were scandalised at the practical and utilitarian nudity in Japanese bathhouses, stating that it was scandalous that they didn't separate men and women (think 1850s American ideas of propriety). The nuances of "decency" and propriety are of course complex and went both ways—one of the first Japanese visitors to America remarked that the way American couples kissed in public was quite shocking.
> 
> [5] China’s defeat in the First Opium War by a Western power was definitely one factor that definitely weighed on the Tokugawa shogunate when Perry showed up; the country was largely isolationist yes, but that didn’t mean news didn’t flow in from China.
> 
> [6] "Edo Bay" the old name for Tokyo Bay—the subsequent Meiji-era government changed the name of the capital to its present one in 1868.
> 
> [7] Alfred and Kiku converse in Dutch, because I don’t think either would have respectively been fluent in Japanese or English then. Kiku is fluent in Dutch of course, because of his long-time dealings with Johan (my headcanon name for Netherlands).


End file.
